


Reedsy prompt submissions

by starlessmeadow



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood and Injury, One Shot Collection, Psychological Horror, Reedsy prompts, Romance, Suspense, Thriller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlessmeadow/pseuds/starlessmeadow
Summary: Dark twists on seemingly normal writing prompts





	1. Viewing the stars through a cracked phone's screen

Prompt: Write a story that begins and ends with someone looking up at the stars

I shouldn’t be looking at them at this point, but, somehow, I have the feeling that this would be the last time I could, so I just had to do it to make up. The cold air had nothing to win against the flickering lights above me, but it still brushed against my face and for the first time I actually felt the tiredness seep into my bones. Along with the chilly night seeping into the young and old trees surrounding me,night had fallen before I even noticed. Whether it’s some weird premonition I’m putting onto myself, I just feel like it meant either the final turning point or the end. Optimism has never been my strong point. Perhaps a long awaited change of pace would benefit me and help me get out of this mind rut? “If that’s how you see things, you should’ve made up your mind like this for studying for your entrance exams.” is what my mom would say, obviously annoyed, as dad would laugh loudly in spite of the radio. When thought about it, why do people even admire stars that much? They’re too far away to be seen clearly. Something this small just makes me feel lonely to the point that I feel something twist in me with discomfort. So, nothing but small cold pointy dots in the sky. Still, staring at them like this makes me wonder why I couldn’t reach her back then, as close as she was to me. 

By “her” I don’t mean some mysterious crush, just a girl that sat next to me for nearly four years. I’m not sure why she even stuck in my mind so long when all I really remember is her average to a fault looks. Her hair had always been put into two tight braids, so tight I thought her head might fall off due to lack of blood flow. Her eyes were tiny but always either looking down or straight into space. Always looking like she just came out of the library after reading the thickest book they have, she’d do nothing but stare out the window almost every day, getting her fair share of scolding from our teacher. Other classmates had their fun by making up all kinds of nicknames for that poor girl, but I can’t blame them since all she did was either stare or glare at any person she met eyes with by chance or annoyance. 

What was so eye-catching then, you might ask? Ear-catching would be more precise, despite us speaking to one another for the first time in all those years of silent neighboring nearing its end. 

‘What do the stars look like to you?’ she had asked in a hushed, yet serious voice. This was so unexpected I had to stop what I was doing or else my hand would’ve definitely missed the shoe box and slammed into the cold hard metal instead.

‘The stars…?’ I mustered, carefully glancing at her unusually intense gaze. ‘I suppose they’re really pretty light-’

‘Oh, I see’ she slammed her box door tight shut and turned on her heel in a dramatic show of emotion. Way more than I was expecting out of someone named “The library rat that can’t read”.

‘But they’re cold!’ I called out after her.‘Cold and lonely and overrated for all the wrong reasons!’

I had to mask a flinch when she turned back and just as suddenly was right in front of my face.

‘So you do get it, huh!’ if I didn’t know better, I’d have said that she sounded almost cheerful then.

This was nearly half a year ago. Back then, I didn’t pay any mind to it and had continued with my life as usual. Eating breakfast with my father seamlessly tearing the silence of the calm morning to shreds, eating lunch with my rowdy friends, or silently pushing the food in lines on the plate during dinner, holed up in my room. Much to my bewilderment, the girl actually said “Hello” to me the next day. And the one after that, and the one following and so on, without fail. She was interesting to talk to, but especially listen to, so I didn’t mind chatting her up about astronomy during the lunch break while most of my friends ran out back to take a drag behind the bushes or stare at people passing down the street. As it turns out, I was dumber than the rumored “her”. Astronomy was her newest biggest passion and someone like me worked perfectly as a means for her to express herself. I didn’t know about Vega, nor the summer triangle, after all, so she patiently showed me picture after picture on her phone in between bites and would laugh at how loud I’d gasp with every fact she’d tell. I never once stopped to question her “facts” . Of course, back then, it was enough for her to talk and for me to listen, so I never interrupted her fervent rants. I was happy as long as she’d talk to me in a way that contrasted what I knew of the few interactions she had. 

Things shifted somewhat with every day nearing spring, just as these branches crunch in varying ways whenever I move to lie down more carefully. The season finally changed, leaves and trees springing back to life, ice and snow slowly but patiently melting away to reveal the vivid life behind. I was happy to leave my old worn out winter coat in the back of the closet after having pulled out the brand new jacket I had to seriously save up to get. I still wasn’t sure about the color, so I was somewhat both anxious of and anticipating a reaction from her. However, at the first sight of her face, all of my hopes and anxieties were shattered.

To say that she had this eerie blank look on her face would be an understatement. She had always been known about spacing out or drifting off the face of the Earth during class, as the teacher put it, but if they thought it was bad then, it got even worse. It began with her not even mumbling “I don’t know” when asked, but went as far as her stopping to respond to anyone at all. At first I felt some kind of twisted pride, hey you all, look at me talking to her normally during lunch, can any of you even attempt that? Can any of the teachers even say that she looks at them if she ever does speak to them? My nose was raised up so high I failed to notice what she was showing me on her phone screen or how stupidly difficult it must’ve been for her to show me anything on that completely smashed screen anyways. Her interests had shifted from astronomy to serial killers in the blink of one week of winter holiday. 

Nevertheless, I couldn’t get enough of that spark in her eyes as she described every gruesome detail of the case she had been analyzing and reading up on the night before. Stars, constellations, blood or slashed guts, what did it matter when I was the only one she spoke to like that. Even then, that happiness seemed to disappear with every sunny day. 

Until one day she just stared blankly at me when I asked what new chilling tale she has for me for the day. My smile faltered as the silence grew uncomfortable, but she just stared at me. I don’t need to remember what I followed up with to break it, when she just stared right past me as if I had never been there to begin with. 

Time passed after then and we still haven’t spoken a single word to each other. Come to think of it, was it also the time she started to bring dead animals to class? I’m not sure anymore, as it’s also the time she got suspended, almost right before our graduation ceremony. Dead birds do not fit well among scratched up textbooks and notebooks filled to the brim with ways to twist bones and break fingers. 

The cold air of the woods feels too good to remember what she had written me in that message in order for me to agree to meet up with her. Did the trees rustle this loud then too…? My head’s too fuzzy to remember. All I could think about for the longest while was how she had smiled at me after all. What else am I forgetting…? She was staring down at me under the same starry sky. Was she crying? Why didn’t I wipe her tears if she was? The stars just keep twinkling at me, cold and uncaring of my troubles. It’s getting hard to look with all those sparkling dots in the endless dark. I really wish I could’ve made her stay by my side and see it, this kind of beautifully dark cheese like sky, with me. On the other hand, while people say that everything is better with company, I really doubt that this starry sky would be good enough for the new her. Or that this gushing open wound in my neck would feel any better with her lying here with me, tearful, bloody, and knife still in hand. Although maybe then would her smile at least have been her real one.


	2. The shrine

Prompt: Write a story about someone breaking a long family tradition.

They say parents make up all kinds of rules, just to keep their children safe. Don’t climb on the couch, don’t walk around with your muddy shoes on, close the closet door tight shut before going to bed… Normal stuff really, as if you or I needed to be reminded that. Some families, however, go as far as calling their rules “traditions”. See, breaking a rule is easy. You’ll get punished for it with your mother’s cooking being placed on the table louder than usual, or your father’s disappointed gaze, maybe auntie will tell you to clean the attic all by yourself or they all will leave you out of a family trip... 

Nothing comes close to breaking a family tradition. Upon hearing the news the air in the kitchen suddenly gets tainted and stale. You see a small bead of sweat roll down auntie’s temple as she nearly drops her knife off the table all together. Mother’s face became almost distorted with rage and dread, as father slammed his fist on the table:

‘How dare you?! I told you! I told you not to-’

A good son listens to what his parents tell him and does so as they want. He cleans the house and takes care of his little brother if his parents are away. He is polite and never lies. He never lies to his mother and father. A picture perfect son fit for a picture perfect family. 

Our family has ties to all that’s weird, from way back the middle ages. Over the years there were all kinds of people in the family, from all kinds of backgrounds and with all kinds of jobs; but they all abided by the same rule. 

The entire family visits the shrine at least once during their life, however, when they do, they must leave before nightfall. It’s as specific as it gets, we all know almost instinctively, as just like this knowledge was passed down to us, it was passed down to our parents and our grandparents. 

Having seen many faces after our moving here, the shrine was old and run down. It was a miracle how that tiny wooden building still stood its ground, atop of a hill out of all places. Since father decided to visit more than once just to be safe, I saw that shabby building up close many times, to the point that it seemed like it was sneering at our efforts. 

You didn’t believe it of course. Rolling your eyes as mother rushed us along the steep stairs, you mumbled something about how weird it all was. You clasped your hands together with us, but I saw that mischievous glint in your eyes that day. 

‘Haven’t you ever wondered what’s inside it?’ your voice was a harsh whisper as you carefully closed the closet door that night.

‘Old ornaments maybe’ I said, weighing my words carefully. If your imagination was to run wild, I knew, there would be trouble for us both. ‘Incense? I’m not too sure what they put into shrines back then’.

‘Incense? Maybe. But… why do they never speak of that god? What kind of god doesn’t have a name?’

‘Old one’ I snapped back. ‘Our family has been praying to it for generations, after all’. You let out a breathy laugh at that and leaned in closer, your face terrifyingly calm, eyes unblinking. I scuffled backwards in discomfort. Unnerving people was like breathing to you. Were we both just the products of our messed up environment back then? I wish I knew the answers to anything at this point. 

‘What are we even praying for?’ 

You were taunting me, I knew that clear as day, but I couldn’t hold back.

‘Tradition doesn’t always have logic behind. Don’t get us into trouble’ I managed to utter through unwilling lips. You were smirking then, but unlike any semblance of a smile I’ve ever seen. It was cold and as sharp as ice. 

‘What are you talking about? I was planning to look, sure, but not like you’d join me...’

A trap. My mind was screaming at me at how sly you were. Smothering the strings in honey-ed words and droplets of questions that were a surefire way to enhance my already growing and dangerous curiosity. Unfair from your position, as you knew well that I would’ve followed you anywhere back then.

The night was quiet and I was almost relieved to feel the chill air brush past my face with every step. I needed to be calm, I couldn’t show my fear to you. Mother and father’s words were echoing in my mind, warnings of nightfall, the shrine and monsters in the closet. Traditions are to be followed, auntie once said in a shaky voice and an even shakier smile. What were they all so afraid of? What kind of skeletons were looming in their closets as they peered in, ignoring the demons on top of them?

‘You hold the torch. I’ll hold onto the knife’ you said matter of factly upon seeing the crooked roof of the small building.’Whatever’s inside doesn’t hold a chance against my knife skills!’ 

I held back a nervous chuckle when you decided to knock on the small door out of all possible things. Oh yes, whatever’s inside will answer with a warm cup of tea and a kind smile to offer to two late travelers.

Suddenly the light went out.

‘What the-’ I was too late. 

A shriek resounded through the forest and my entire body. I dropped the now flickering torch. I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to, but I could’ve chosen my last words to you a bit more carefully. Speak with consideration, mother said.

What could have I said that night? I’m sorry you tricked me into agreeing to go with you. I’m sorry I got curious. I’m sorry, I truly am.

It happened in a flash. Like a scene from an old time horror show or the horrors auntie liked to spook us before bed with. Headless riders, ghosts that shriek upon being seen, hands that grab you by the ankles if you’re not careful... Slowly...Ever so slowly, like a beating heart...Flicker, flicker out, flicker, flicker out… One moment it was pitch black, and the next I saw you. 

Your body was stuck at a weird angle. Awfully crooked at the spine, limbs spasming by your sides uselessly. And sharp black spikes piercing various organs, your throat and your eyes, leaving nothing behind but a bloody mess. They were beckoning me. Come now, child, come take a look. Closer, ever so closer... I didn’t understand. I couldn’t. What were they? Coming from the deepest shadows of that run down old shrine like some ruthless security mechanism. I couldn’t move a muscle, do anything, but stare at how they slowly dragged you towards the entrance, completely ignoring the muffled cry you desperately tried making with nothing to make it with still in your body. Would our ancestors be angry by the blood seeping into their beloved stone floor or would they be delighted? I want to throw up. 

The torch finally breathed its last with a hissing sizzle. I raised my head slowly and peered closely into the darkness. Not even the full moon could illuminate whatever that was inside. I shook my leg slightly, relieving the tension, needing to move forward. I need to. I want to. I want to see. Just a step. Just one. My leg twitches mid step and I halt, the blood in my veins feels as if it’s freezing over. A thousand eyes peer into mine from behind the darkness, impatiently waiting for that single step closer.

I ran like never before in my life. I bursted into my parent’s room, ignoring any and all acts of politeness or thoughtfulness. I dragged them all out to the kitchen and babbled on and on about you. The shrine ate you I said, the shrine ate you and I ran. The shrine ate you, I spat out into my enraged father’s face, as mother wept. He just sent me to bed then, looking defeated, he said he’d punish me later. Neither mother nor auntie raised their heads. Through their hands I could see their glistening tears. 

I waited for morning. When the first rays of light hit our room, I snuck out. Slowly and carefully I dug around the garage until I had everything I needed. Throwing my backpack filled with half of my life in it over my shoulder, I dragged the can of gasoline up the mountain. I’d be lying if I said the matchbox in my hand wasn’t rattling all the way to the top. However, I didn’t feel any kind of tension or fear. That old shrine sneered at me and this time I sneered back.

No matter how much time has passed since that day, I never was able to wash off the smell of smoke, wood, and burning flesh off of me.

**Author's Note:**

> Any and all kudos/comments are appreciated! You can try to send me a scream and I'll decipher it into whatever compliment or criticism you meant with it


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